


Hello

by bovaria



Series: Adele 25 Fics [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2016-01-25
Packaged: 2018-05-16 04:25:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5814019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bovaria/pseuds/bovaria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on Adele’s Hello. Dean AU. This summary sucks because I don’t want to give anything away. You’re a famous singer in this fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hello

“Give me a minute,” you smile at your manager, who sighs and nods her head. She understands and so she gives you your privacy, ushering everyone out of your dressing room. You reach for your cell phone. His number is already on speed dial from how often you call him. You take a deep breath and bring the device to your ear, gnawing on your bottom lip to ease the nerves you feel.

“Hello,” you speak.

His voice answers. “Hello, it’s me, Dean. Leave your name and phone number, I’ll get back to you as soon as you can.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, but hearing his voice, even though it’s a recording, it helps you relax. You press the ‘end call’ button and put the phone back into your purse. There’s no time to make more calls when the concert is only a few minutes from starting. You get on your feet and stare into the mirror, smiling back at your reflection. You can do this. He’ll be out there waiting for you.

There’s a knock at the door. “Y/N, are you ready? It’s time.”

“Y-yeah,” you clear your throat and stride across the room, pulling the door open and grinning at your nervous manager. She always gets like this right before every concert, even though you both have been through this for over two years already. “Relax, Meg, it’s fine,” you chuckle, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“It’ll be even better once you get on that stage, come on,” she grabbed your wrist and dragged you with her to where your dancers were already waiting for you. She’s making to walk away but you grasp her elbow and pull her to you, embracing her tightly. Sometimes, she played her part of your manager so well that you momentarily forgot she was your best friend before anything.

“Love you,” you kiss her cheek before pulling away.

“I love you, too, Y/N,” she rolls her eyes, but still smiles affectionately. “Now, let’s get this show started!”

You turn towards your dance team, the ones who understand how grueling it can be to perform night after night and not stop for weeks at a time. You join your hands in the center and at the count of three you break off in shouts and excited cheers. Everyone’s pumped and it’s contagious, you smile widely and embrace the dancer standing next to you. Soon, it’s a big huddle of people hugging each other and your name is called.

The applause and roar of voices is deafening, it sometimes becomes too overwhelming for you, but you close your eyes and tell yourself it’ll be alright. You climb on to the lift that will take you up to the stage and perform a few breathing exercises.

The spotlight is on you too soon and you feel your palms grow sweaty. You try to shake of the nerves but you know that now you have thousands looking at you and you really can’t show your edginess in front of them.

Then you see him, smack in the center of the front row. He’s clapping along with them, grinning widely at you, his eyes crinkling at the edges. His hair is done the way you love it and you know he’s done it just for you. He always does when it’s time for your concerts. And so far he has not missed one of your shows. He brings his hands up to his mouth, cups them, and bellows out your name.

Just like that, the crowd dissipates and it’s only him. You’re taken back to the first time you showed him that you could sing. It was your first time singing to anyone and his smile at the end of the song told you everything. It wasn’t just a pipe dream of yours, you could actually make it come true.

_“Sweetheart!” he exclaimed as you finished the last note. “What the hell? How come you didn’t tell me you could sing?”_

_“It’s not something I share with people,” you answered._

_Dean rolled his eyes and pulled you to him, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. His fingers tucked a strand of hair behind your ear and his thumb stroked your jaw bone. “I think you would make an awesome singer, honey.”_

_“You’re kidding me, right?” you scoffed._

_“I’m dead serious right now,” he said._

_“It’s just a pipe dream, Dean.”_

_“I don’t think it is, I think you can actually do it,” he nudged your chin up to look at him. “You’ll be one of the greatest. I can already see it. Just don’t forget about me,” he winked teasingly._

_“I’d never,” your fingers find their way to the nape of his neck and you bring his head down to kiss his full lips. You close your eyes and focus on him, dreams of singing and a future as a rock star forgotten._

The first song concludes and you belt out the last note, smiling at the look he gives you. It’s his favorite song, after all you had written it for him. You want to lean down and ask him why he hasn’t answered any of your calls, but you have work to do, a few more songs to go through. Talking to him can wait.

“This next song goes to my first love,” you speak into the microphone. A silence settles over the arena and a soft melody begins to play. You close your eyes briefly before opening once again and focusing on Dean. He’s heard this song many times, but you know that it affects him just as much as you. With tears threatening to brim over, you sing. And surprisingly, your voice doesn’t break. With each show, it has become easier.

_“I wrote a new song,” you announced to Dean as you walked into your studio apartment. He’s on the couch, papers and textbooks sprawled all over him._

_“Oh,” he stopped everything he was doing, placing his pen on the back of his ear and clearing a space for you on the couch. “Let me hear it.”_

_“Of course,” you chuckled, taking your place alongside him, fishing your guitar out of its case. “I always show you my songs before even presenting them to the producers and shit.”_

_“I always knew I was special to you,” Dean winked._

_“Shut up,” you wrinkled your nose at him before playing a few notes on the instrument._

_Dean’s eyes never left yours as you sang, his attention entirely on you. You sang of his love for you, of the way he made your heart flutter in your chest, and how there would never be anyone else but him. He smiled when you mentioned a childhood accident where he had accidentally pushed you off a slide and you had ended up with a fractured arm._

_Once you finished the song, Dean smiled softly at you. “It’s awesome, sweetheart. A guaranteed hit.”_

_“I sure hope so,” you sighed out._

_“Come here,” he takes the guitar from your hands and lays it on the array of papers on the coffee table before leaning into you and kissing you deeply._

And just like that, your show is over. The world tour for your second album is almost finished and you are desperate to get it over with. You’re thankful that this show is in your city and that you’ll get to sleep in your own bed tonight, not a hotel room. You can’t wait.

You get off the stage after thanking everyone for their support and attendance, looking forward to getting home in the next half hour. But you’re not so lucky. Meg is waiting for you backstage, sheepish smile on her lips. “I scheduled an interview for you, just to get it over with tonight,”

You hold back a tired sigh and nod at her, knowing she’s doing her best. “Okay, I’ll follow you.” And with that, you ignore the soreness in your limbs and the exhaustion threatening to close your eyes, weighing heavy on your shoulders.

“Miss Y/L/N, hello! I am Liz, reporter for Seventeen Magazine, that was such a great show!” her voice his high-pitched and it grates on you. You hold back from cringing at it and sit down across from her, polite smile on your face as you shake her hand. “It’s such a pleasure to meet you,” she screeches.

“Likewise,” you offer. “If you don’t mind, can we get right to the questions?” you ignore Meg’s wide-eyed look at your brazenness and continue to grin at the reporter. “I’ve had a very long day and want to get back home.”

“Oh, of course,” she unlocks her tablet and opens her notes app, shuffling through the files momentarily. You let your mind wander back to Dean. He’ll be there when you get home, his voice ready so soothe your frayed nerves.

The questions are the same as two years ago. You answer them automatically and your voice drones out in monotone until Meg has to interrupt the interview and thank the reporter for her interest in you. Frankly, you’re sick of the same thing over and over again, your tolerance at its lowest.

Meg chastises you when she steps into your dressing room. You’re shrugging on your leather jacket and shrug nonchalantly at her. “She doesn’t bring anything new to the table, I’m so sorry I got bored.”

“Don’t lash out on me because you’re tired,” Meg rolls her eyes. “Just go home and get as much rest as you can.”

“Okay,” you kiss her cheek, thanking her and wishing her a goodnight. Meg only smiles tiredly as you walk out of the building.

Your driver is waiting for you just in front of the backstage entrance. He greets you and you send him a soft ‘good evening’ right back. He opens the door for you and promises you he’ll have you home in no time.

You let yourself doze off in the backseat, not willing to wait for you to be in bed to succumb to sleep. A few minutes later and you’re being gently shaken awake. “We’re here, ma’am,” it’s your driver and he signals towards the main entrance of your building.

“Thank you, Ivan,” you send him a smile. He’s making to get back in the car when you call for his attention one more time. “Take a day off tomorrow,” you tell him. “I won’t be leaving the house.”

“Okay, miss,” he smiles, obviously excited at the news.

You send a grin to the doorman on your way inside and quickly walk to the elevators. The people in the building are already used to seeing you around and so there’s no reaction from them, only a few polite greetings here and there. You patiently wait for the elevator to take you to the penthouse at the topmost level and sigh in relief as the doors open to reveal your home.

You kick off your shoes and begin to shed your clothes, leaving a trail from the doors all the way to your bedroom. Quickly locating one of Dean’s big T-shirts in your drawers, you put it on and crawl into bed. You curse at yourself as you remember that you forgot your phone back in your purse by the main entrance and reluctantly get up to retrieve it.

Once it’s in your hand, you scurry back into bed and nuzzle into the comfortable sheets. You close your eyes in bliss and you’re convinced that there is nothing like sleeping in your own bed. You grab the neck of Dean’s shirt and bring it up to your nose, sharply disappointed to find that his scent has worn off. You ignore the tears prickling at the back of your eyes and instead unlock your phone.

You call his number, praying he’d answer, yet knowing he won’t. His voice comes on and now the tears are unrelenting and interminable. You bite your lip to hold back your sobs but it’s to no avail. You let the loneliness and absence of his presence wash over you, curling in on yourself until sleep takes you captive after two hours of crying yourself hoarse.

You wake up to find your voice too rough to speak and groan at the number of missed calls. You ignore all of them. They’re not from the person you wanted to get them from. You climb out of bed, dragging your feet to the bathroom and get ready for your one day off before your tour continues. Brushing your teeth, you avoid looking at the mirror, knowing you’ll only see a mess of red-rim eyes and messy hair.

The hot water of your shower helps to wash away the sadness, but you can still feel the grief deep in your bones, weighing you down and you know that the feeling will never really dissipate as long as you keep holding on. You almost slip as you make your way out of the bathroom but somehow regain your balance and continue on your journey to find the most inconspicuous clothes you owned.

Your closet is filled with designer clothes, shoes, purses, and jewelry. You bypass it all, going straight to the back of the vast room. Grabbing sweatpants and a grey hoodie, you put it on and take the biggest sunglasses you have. You make sure that it’ll be hard to recognize you before you leave your home, taking the keys of your car with you.

You don’t say a word to anyone on your way out of the building and quickly clamber into your car. Revving the engine, you pull out of the parking lot and onto the street. The city is still waking up and you weave through the few cars out at this time.

It only takes you twenty minutes to reach your destination, but it still seems eternal to you. Your chest feels tight as you park your car and climb out of the vehicle. Pulling your hoodie more over your head, you bury your hands into the front pockets of the sweater and begin to walk, passing through the gates.

You choose to ignore the sign that tells you where you’re at, bee lining towards Dean’s assigned lot. There are fresh flowers and you know that his family has recently visited. You haven’t spoken to them ever since it happened.

_“I’m so proud of you!” Dean was driving you both back home after the conclusion of your first national tour. You had been a huge success and America had come to love you dearly. Dean grasped your hand in his and brought it up to his lips, kissing it softly before playfully nipping at the skin._

_“Stop it,” you pull away, laughing heartily. “Focus on driving!”_

_“We’re going to go on vacation next week!” he shoots you a pointed look._

_“Yes!” you exclaim, throwing your arms in the air. You needed the time off and what better way to spend it than with Dean in some tropical island?_

_His laughter turned to an alarmed cry as the car swerved to the right. Your head slammed against the glass and you felt yourself being tossed about, your body barely a rag doll as the car was flipped upside down._

“Hey, babe,” you smiled down at the gravestone on which your boyfriend’s name was written, along with his birthdate and the day of his death. “So, I’m about to finish my second tour. It’s been a blast, but I do miss you there!” your voice breaks and you choke up, tears overflowing and streaking down your cheeks.

Your knees buckle and they hit the soft grass, your hands coming up to sustain you against the stone. You cry against it for a few minutes before composing yourself, clearing your throat to begin talking. “Can you believe that it’s been over a year and I still pay your phone bill?” you laugh dryly. “Your voice is the one thing that calms me down. I also pretend that you’re the only one in the audience. It’s how I have gotten over the stage fright.”

“I know, I know,” you roll your eyes, already imagining him telling you that you had nothing to be afraid of. “I’m a natural at this… but I can’t really help it. It’s been over two years since I ‘made it,’ yet I can never get used to it.”

You paused, closing your eyes at the soft breeze suddenly blowing against you. It feels refreshing and you lean your cheek on the cold marble stone. “People loved the song I wrote for you,” you scoffed. “It’s been number one for over twelve weeks now. I know you’d told me it’d be a hit, but damn, I never thought it’d be that _much_ of a hit. I’m still in awe when I hear my voice coming out through the speakers when I listen to the radio.”

You can almost hear him tell you that he was proud of what you had accomplished. “I miss you,” you choked on your words once again as your fingers stroked against the smooth rock, tracing his name. “I miss you every single day and I know they say time will heal me, but—I-I don’t think it w-will.” You sniffled, wiping at your nose.

You remain leaning on Dean’s gravestone, your tears endless as you continue to tell him everything you had seen this past few months, your happiest moments, and how every new day seemed more painful without him than the previous one.

You only stand up when the sun begins to set and your stomach growls loudly. You promise Dean you’ll be back soon and kiss the cold stone, getting up on shaky legs. You walk away from his grave with a bigger emptiness than you came with.


End file.
